


The Master, and Paperwork

by ausmac



Series: The Master in 1973 [2]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 02:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21067673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: The Master isn't that fond of paperwork, and Gene Hunt isn't that fond of disobedience.  Universes clash.





	The Master, and Paperwork

The Master looked at the pile of files on his desk, which had not been there when he'd gone out to lunch. He looked across at Ray, who was watching him and wearing a mild smirk. "What are these?"  
  
"Your current case load, boss. Guv said you was to provide 'im a report on 'em by the end of the week."  
  
"Excuse me – Hunt said he wanted a report? A written report? The Gene Hunt sitting in that office over there who has the attention span of a gnat?"  
  
"Heard that, Tyler! Get yer arse in here!"  
  
Ray's smile widened and the Master thought: yes, you'll do, falling down a long hole at some time in the near future. He stood, collected the files, and walked into Gene's office. "You screeched?"  
  
Gene was sitting with his own pile of folders. "Don't go using simile with my men, you'll only confuse 'em."  
  
"I'm impressed, you have a grasp of abusive grammer. And were these," he finished, dumping the pile of files on top of the latest issue of Sports News, "your idea?"  
  
"No, as it happens, clever dick. The Super wants to check our caseload. I've got all of 'em out there doing' reports. "  
  
"Well, I don't do reports. Paperwork is for lackeys."  
  
"My feelings exactly, however, I must occasionally bow to the voice of authority." Gene's green eyes flashed as he locked them on the Master's. "As do you, Sam."  
  
Despite all his best intentions and overall sense of superiority, the Master had found it very difficult to deny his responses to Gene Hunt. Whether it was because of pre-established conditioning placed on his body or something far more elusive, he didn't know. But whenever Gene used that commanding tone, that sensual, dominant assertiveness, it went right past his upper lobes and straight to his groin. It was quite disturbing, and very nice.  
  
Despite that, he was unable to resist issuing challenge, to test their relationship. He bent forward over the desk, placing both palms on either side of the pile of folders, and slowly nudged them backwards with his fingers. "I don't think so."  
  
He watched the resolve growing in that blonde-and-bear-like visage. "What did you say?"  
  
"I said," he continued, as the files, one by one, fell off the desk, "I. Don't. Do. Paperwork. Get one of those ---"  
  
And, as always, he was surprised how fast the big man could move. Next moment he was heading backwards into the wall, with fists holding his jacket at the shoulders. "You do what I tell you, when I tell you."  
  
He smiled, using that twisted half-smile, half-grimace that had worked so well in the past and never failed to get a reaction. "Always resorts to force, never to reason. So easy to get you to forget your brain."  
  
Gene stepped back and let him drop, then kicked the office door open. "Lost Property, now. We're going to have a little chat in private."  
  
The rest of the squad watched them pass in silence, though a mutter of conversation arose in their wake. Doubtless thinking I'm due for a beating, the Master thought. It was possible, violence was never far from the surface with Gene Hunt.  
  
Once inside the little, dusty store room, Gene locked the door, checked it, and turned, unpredictably calm. "Now, let's have a chat about paperwork."  
  
The Master sat on the desk, one leg swining, and crossed his arms. "Let's do that. We can talk about what a stupid, pitiful waste of time it is, in the greater scheme of things."  
  
He watched as Gene walked across the floor towards him, kicking chairs out of the way as he came. He didn't move as Gene walked around the table; hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the DCI moved out of his range of sight, as the deep voice came from behind him.  
  
"You just gotta learn the procedures, Tyler, gotta learn that I run things round here and arguin' with me is the waste of time." Hands landed on his shoulder and he was pulled backwards to lie longways on the table. He looked up into the man's intent gaze as Gene studied him, head to one side. "You get I'm the boss here?"  
  
"You've got the rank."  
  
"No." One of the hands wandered down his chest, around his groin and down a thigh in a slow, pressured motion. "I'm the boss. Your boss." The hand moved again, rested on the Master's thigh next to his growing erection. Not touching it, quite. "Say it."  
  
He tried to edge sideways but the other hand held him still, and he bit his lip. "Make me."  
  
Both hands lifted and Gene stepped back. It was his turn to fold his arms over his chest. He said nothing, just watched, expressionless.  
  
"You bastard!" the Master swore, pushing himself up.  
  
Gene nodded. "Yep, that's me. Big boss bastard. All y'gotta do is tell me who's in charge. Who owns you."  
  
The Master sneered. "No one owns me."  
  
Gene shrugged, and turned to leave.  
  
"Wait! You're just …going? Leaving me here? We're not done yet!"  
  
"Oh yes we are, Sammy m'boy. You just go back to your desk and write your little reports because that's all you get from me, police work. Not unless you tell me what I want to hear – and mean it."  
  
The Master slid from the table and moved behind Gene, wrapping his arms around the large body, moulding himself to Hunt's back. The human couldn't fail to feel his arousal. "Just stay."  
  
Gene didn't move. "Then say it. Tell me I own you, body, soul, mind, head to toe. All it takes."  
  
The Master ground his jaws together. "You're impossible! Fine, you got it, you own, me owned." Words, were after all, just words, if they produced the desired result.  
  
Gene swung around and the Master was again reminded that, as big and oafish as he appeared, he was no fool. "No, I said you have to mean it. Won't work between us unless you do. You're too strong, Sam, only one of us can be in charge, and in this relationship, that's gotta be me, because you out of control don't bear thinkin' about."  
  
The Master wasn't sure how Hunt knew the things he knew, or how much he simply sensed, that perhaps Sam Tyler and the person within that body weren't the same anymore. But on some instinctive, visceral level, Hunt recognised the need to establish position, dominance, to be in control. And being there, being vulnerable and human, the Master needed the protection that only Hunt could provide.  
  
But reason aside, it was a new experience not being the one in control, and he sought experiences as a child sought sweets. So he justified lifting his eyes to Gene and letting himself be owned.  
  
"Yes, yes, alright. I mean it."  
  
Gene watched him for a moment or two, assessing his response, then slid his arms beneath the Master's and lifted him back onto the table. He stood between the Master's legs, cupped his head in one hand and bent forward to kiss him. The Master closed his eyes and let himself be held, supported, kissed, tasting tobacco and scotch and the passionate heat of possession in the mouth on him. Nobody had ever kissed him like that. He suspected nobody else ever would.  
  
Gene drew back at last and ran the back of one hand down the Master's face, his own expression surprisingly gentle. "Tonight we'll talk about this some more. Right now, you go do your report."  
  
The Master sighed and stood, straightening his jacket, resigned to having a morning-long unresolved arousal. "Fine, but it goes against the grain. I've killed people for suggesting I do paperwork, just so you know."  
  
"Sometimes," Gene said, as they walked together back to the squad room, "you really worry me, Sammy, because I get the feeling you aren't jokin'....."


End file.
